


The Lights (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

by Steggy



Series: Tumblr Prompts [19]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9543248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steggy/pseuds/Steggy
Summary: Bucky is never going to be the same. He can’t be. He looks out into the world and sees something he can’t have. But he doesn’t know what he does have. What he always has.





	

**Author's Note:**

> harrass me on twitter: @alyjevans
> 
> tumblr: spangledcap/poorcap

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. The cold eyes, the pain behind them that he kept behind a brick wall, that he knew was there but refused to feel. The untamed mop of dark hair that he hesitated pulling back into a knot, too afraid it would show too much of his face. Too afraid of being vulnerable when he’d learned how to hide behind it. The glint of metal at his side, though mostly covered now by a black jacket sleeve. 

No.

He didn’t like what he saw looking back at him. 

No.

He didn’t wish it were any different.

Not when he deserved to suffer. 

Bucky cleared his throat and attempted to pull himself away from the monster he saw in the mirror. He turned back towards his bed, the one that had been untouched since he moved into the Avengers Tower after the dust finally settled between him and Tony (and Steve, for that matter). He didn’t sleep. Didn’t have to, really. Not that he could anyway. Not when there was too much waiting for him in the deepest depths of his unconscious. 

But now he sat on the edge of it, eyes wandering out past the floor to ceiling windows, out into New York City, alive in lights. He could feel the energy of the city, feel the life, the joy, the despair, the poverty, the rich. He could feel the urge to feel his own joy, his own despair. But still, he felt nothing at all.

Not until the smallest of knocks at his door.

He didn’t say anything, nor did he really have anything  _ to _ say in the first place, and he knew you wouldn’t prod. You never prodded. You were always understanding. Always there to listen when he did want to speak. 

He always liked you for that.

“Hey,” You said, head popping in the door. “We should probably get going.”

Bucky’s lips pressed together, eyes peeling from the world outside to find your gaze. “Right.”

He knew the moment he opened his mouth, you’d know. You always did. 

The sigh that slipped out of you made his heart clench, hating that so often you had to console him, baby him, even, just to leave his room. It made him feel selfish, useless. He hated wasting your time with his problems, hated having those problems in the first place. You didn’t deserve him always weighing you down. 

You sat beside him, hand resting on his knee. Immediately, the simple physical contact eased Bucky ever so slightly.

“It’s gonna be all right, Buck,” You murmured. He didn’t really think so. 

“But I’ve—”

“It wasn’t you.”

Bucky’s attention drifted from you. Back to the lights. Back to the city. Back to mindless thoughts about things he wished he had. Normalcy. Joy. Despair. Feeling. 

“James, it wasn’t you.”

“But it was,” He said quietly, eyes never leaving the lights. “It was.”

The black suit he was wearing suddenly felt like pins and needles piercing his skin. Making him bleed. Draining him of any life he had left. He tugged at the sleeves, desperate to relieve the agony, standing up in the process and moving towards the windows. He felt your eyes on him with each step that he took. Felt judgement, even when he knew there wasn’t any. 

His cool metal fingertips brushed the glass, wishing to be a part of the world below. But he never could be. Not really.

He was enveloped by the lights once more. Drawn into the fallacy of life. 

The swirling thoughts only came to a halt when he felt warm hands on his waist, warm arms slowly curling around his torso.

That was when he felt. That was when there was the smallest of sparks of life within him.

Biting his lower lip, he rested his hand over your arm, feeling your face pressing into his shoulder as you whispered, “We have to go meet the new director, Buck. Being late isn’t going to leave a good impression.”

Before he could even open his mouth to say he probably didn’t have a very good one to begin with, you cut him off. “Don’t even. We have to go.”

Sighing himself now, he dared to turn away from the window, turning in your grasp, heart and mind slowly easing as his eyes caught yours. “And what do you suppose I can do that will make a  _ lasting _ good impression, one that won’t cause another war?”

He watched as your face scrunched up into an expression he could only describe as frustration. His heart dropped into his stomach, hating himself for continuing to be stubborn. Especially with you.

But then your hands found a spot on either side of his neck, thumbs reaching to stroke along his jawline. “Be you. No one else can.”

He understood the sentiment. Felt the slightest bit of hope in it. Even a bit of comfort. Enough to let him relax and slowly press his forehead against yours. “Not many people like me.”

He watched as your eyelids fluttered closed. Felt your thumbs pause on his skin. 

It wasn’t until your lips touched his, just for a brief moment, that he understood what was happening.

Because for that brief moment, he was in the city. He was alive. He  _ felt. _

He hadn’t realized his eyes had closed, too. When he opened them, when he found your eyes again, there was something new.

He didn’t know he had the ability to love anymore.

“Yeah,” You said quietly, and he felt like the city, felt like his lights were slowly brightening. “But I do.” 


End file.
